It's the End of the World As We Know It
by Cedargirl
Summary: "It's the end..." The last thing Billy remembered was a bright light, and Black Hawk's head snapping around, before his own head hit the window, and it all went black...of the world as we know it. The report said they both died. The report lied.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I don't own Secret's of The Immortal Nicholas Flamel. I love it, but Michael Scott owns it. I don't own the song "It's the End of the World As We Know It" either. It's by REM. good band...**

**Please read and review! I appreciate your suggestions and feedback!**

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><p><strong>The End of The World as We Know It<strong>

_Prologue_

It had been 3 o'clock in the morning when they got the call. Quetzacoatl had a mission for them, they were to come straight out for orders.

Black Hawk had staggered downstairs to the garage and found Billy the Kid already waiting by the battered army jeep that Black Hawk still drove, even after everything it had been through. It was the most reliable car he'd ever driven, and he wasn't about to trade it off due to some dents and the fact that acid had eaten all the paint from the hood.

The two of them climbed into the jeep and headed off, leaving the warmth of the building far behind. With any luck they'd be back before dawn.

Billy rubbed his face with the heels of his hands, mentalling bemoaning having to leave the warmth of sleep and crawl out of bed into the chilly jeep, which had never had a heater in the first place. "What d'you think he wants?" he asked Black Hawk.

Hawk shook his head, "I don't know. Probably just routine stuff. I bet it's not urgent. People who never sleep don't ever think to wait until morning."

Billy moaned. "Ugh, you've got that right."

Even at 3 AM San Francisco was still pretty lively. Neon lights flashed, and though there was less traffic, there was still some. Mostly freight trucks, night shift workers, and people heading back from pulling all-nighters, though.

Billy was messing with the radio, trying to find a good station. He finally hit on one that was playing classic rock on an endless loop. REM's "It's the End of the World As We Know It" filled the cab.

"Yes! Great song!" Black Hawk grinned. They both began to sing along with the crazy lyrics.

"_That's great, It starts with an earthquake, birds and snakes..."_ They continued along , both yelling out "Leonard Bernstein" at the top of their lungs when it came along. They stopped at a red light, and began yelling out the chorus.

"_It's the end of the world as we know it"_ The light turned green. Black Hawk eased the jeep into 1st gear, then 2nd and pulled out into the intersection.

"_It's the end..."_ Billy glanced side ways out of the driver's side window, and his heart nearly stopped. All he saw was a bright light, his friend's shocked face, the flare of his aura, then the impact came. The last thing he remembered was an enormous grille, broken glass and crumpling metal, Black Hawk's head snapping around, then his own head crashed into the window and everything went black.

..._of the world as we know it. _


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It is surprising how little time it takes for a crisis to occur. How quickly a world can end. All it took was a fresh green light, an exhausted 18 wheeler driver who was trying to beat a yellow, and 70 miles an hour.

Billy woke up to flashing blue lights and scraping metal. He tried to register what had happened. They'd pulled out into the intersection... then what? They'd been T-boned by a freighter truck, he realized. He remembered Hawk's head snapping around during the impact, and tried to look for his friend. Turning his head hurt worse than anything he'd felt in a long time, but he forced himself. Black Hawk was completely still, pinned in place by his seat belt and the airbag. behind him the side of the car was crumbled and broken beyond recognition. The roof was crushed down a lot, and the Kid realized they mustve flipped before coming to a stop. Black Hawk's face was covered in blood which was coming from a gash on his forehead. Billy tried to move, to check if his friend was still alive, but when he moved his arm to reach out to find his friend's pulse the pain was blinding. It pushed him over the edge, and he sank back down into unconsciousness as a paramedic ripped open the door and tried to stop the bleeding.

The rescue squad was expecting fatalities all around. It was amazing the two men in the jeep were alive at all. As they pulled the guy on the passenger side of jeep out and loaded him into the ambulance, one of the officers on the scene thought he saw a purplish-red mist hovering over the guy's skin. _That's odd_, he thought, but then dismissed it as a reflection of the ambulance's emergency lights.

Billy had always wondered what ambulances looked like from the inside. He kept drifting in and out of consciousness, vague images sticking with him, a paramedic's face, the label of the oxygen system, then he would be gone again, and when he opened his eyes again new images would come. The door of the ambulance opening. Nothing hurt very much any more. Was he dying? Where was Black Hawk? Was _he_ dead? Nothingness. Then he was looking over an oxygen mask at a ceiling going by, flourescent lights breaking up the ceiling tile as he was wheeled to the ER. A jolt as the stretcher bumped over a join in the flooring, then nothing.

Dr. Greene had worked a long shift in one of his least favorite places in the hospital: the ER. It was all either people who had bruised their wrist, gotten a bad cut, or were running a high fever, or people who had fallen off a 3 story building, gotten mugged in an alley,or been involved in a car accident. This latest case was one of the latter. The two men had been brought in a few minutes ago. The driver from the car was a lot worse than the passenger, and had been wheeled through to critical almost immediately after arriving, leaving Greene to deal with the other patient.

"What've we got?" Greene asked a nurse as he entered the room.

"William Bonney, 25, injured in a car accident. The car got hit by an 18 wheeler in an intersection. His arm is broken badly, both legs are fractured, probable head trauma, and we expect internal bleeding." The nurse replied, handing him a file with accident details on it, along with the guy's insurance information.

Greene took a look at the young man. His blond hair was sticky with blood from a head wound, and his eyes were closed. Somebody had hooked him up to an IV and a monitor, and his pulse blipped its way across the screen. _Poor kid,_ he thought, _probably never knew what hit him. _

A few minutes later, Greene was certain the patient was bleeding internally. An ultrasound had shown a lot of blurs in his abdominal cavity, and Greene decided he would have to operate to stop the bleeding before they could do anything else.

That was twenty minutes ago. Now Greene was standing in an Operating Room, holding a scalpel, about to make the first incision. Greene took a deep breath, and began to cut. A second later he stopped, and lifted the scalpel. There was nothing there. No blood. No cut. He looked at the scalpel. Yes the blade was sharp. Was he okay? He began to cut again. This time he looked closer when he lifted the scalpel. At once he knew he wasn't okay. He had just seen the cut seal up on it's own, leaving no blood and unscarred skin behind. He cut again, again the incision closed.

The assisting intern had noticed too by now. The woman's eyebrows shot up her forehead. "What the...?"

Greene put down the scalpel, and walked around to the patient's head. He had a headwound. He raised the gauze taped over the cut, and froze. It was now a gradually shrinking line. It looked like the injury was weeks old. Just 20 minutes ago it had been bleeding profusely and it had taken a while to get it to stop bleeding enough that it wasn't life threatening.

Greene went back to the site of his attempted incisions. Nothing there. He grabbed the scalpel and made a long, deep cut. He and the intern watched frozen as it sealed itself up with a line of purple-red sparks. No one spoke.

Greene broke the silence. "I'm calling a Code 007. Clear the operating room. Don't let anybody see the patient. None of you leave the ER until I say so."

Greene left the OR in a hurry, pulling of his mask and gloves as he went. He shoved his way into his office and snatched up the phone. He hit a speed dial number, and was connected almost instantly.

"I'm reporting a Code 007. Yes, 007. Almost certain supernatural aspects. Send someone as soon as possible." Greene began to respond to questions about the situation from the person on the other end of the line. "...every cut we made sealed up almost instantly...What? Yes there was another person in the car. Do you think it's the same? I'll notify the surgeon..."

In the critical wing things were going badly for Black Hawk. He was losing blood too fast, and his aura couldn't cope with the blood loss. His heart kept pumping it out of his body as fast as it could be replaced, and even with the surgeons trying to stop it, it wasn't enough. So his heart was trying to shut down, until his aura could heal him enough for it to start beating again. Unfortunately, the doctors did not want his heart to shut down, and every time he flatlined, he was defibrillated, sending bolts of electricity to restart his heart.

Dr. Evans was getting frustrated. This guy was not going to die on her. Two of her other patients had already died on this shift, she was not going to lose another one. She was trying to close a gaping wound in the guy's side and was halfway done, when he flatlined again.

Evans was mad. Was it her? Was she cursed or something? She reached for the paddles to shock his heart back into beating, and gave him the highest shock that was safe at this level. The monitor continued its high pitched whine, no pulse starting back. She raised the power and shocked him again, yet still the monitor screamed.

"Damn it!" Evans gasped. It wasn't her fault. She knew that. It just pissed her off. "We're gonna have to call it guys." she said to the others who were assisting her.

Dr. Greene appeared at the window and stuck his head in the door, holding a mask over his face.

"Dr. Evans, could I speak with you a moment?"

Evans walked towards him, pulling off her gloves, dropping the stupid, bloody things into the proper recepticle as she went.

The intern who had been assisting on the case glanced after her, as one of her co workers listed and recorded the time of death. _Poor Dr Evans,_ the woman thought, _She's had the worst luck today. _Dr. Evans was talking quietly to Dr. Greene in the corner by the door. Her expression grew alarmed, then incredulous, and finally resolved as she turned around and informed her team

"We've called a code 007 on this patient, nobody leaves the building without being decontaminated and debriefed."

The intern was alarmed. Was 007 code for the black plague or something? She turned to the anesthesiologist.

"What's 007 code for?"

The man shook his head. "I don't believe this. It's just ridiculous."

"What does it mean?"

"It's code for a situation with suspected supernatural aspects."

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><p><strong>Hey guys! Thanks for reading! It is probably going to be a while before I can update due to school and music, (and plot composing shhh!) but expect more sometime in September!<strong>

**Any reviews or suggestions are welcome!**

**There's a bit more coming very soon though: the police report on the subject, and the article in the newspaper.**


	3. Chapter 2

**Hi guys so here is the next chapter. Please read and review. I apologize for spelling mistakes, as I am typing this pretty late at night without a word processor, so there are certainly a few.**

**I don't own Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel. Michael Scott does. And he's really awesome. Seriously.**

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

Quetzalcoatl was pissed off. Not mad enough to kill somebody, but still pissed off. The mission hadn't been urgent. He'd wanted them to check out possible rumors of an aggressive Next Generation in an area to the north. It probably wouldn't turn out to be anything, but he'd wanted to be sure, so he'd called them, and they hadn't even showed up.

It could easily have waited until morning, but for them to disobey an order like this was not what he would have expected of them. He might have expected them to be a little late, or even for Billy not to have come (according to Black Hawk, the Kid refused to be dragged out of bed for anything, and resististed very effectively) but for neither of them to show up was unprecedented.

He was trying to think of a way to reprimand them for this without actually killing or excessively maiming one, or both of them, when he picked up the paper. He flipped through it boredly. Papers really were useless things, he only got it to make sure no more "supernatural events" involving "aliens" were occurring. _Blah blah blah, economy, job crisis, car wreck with 3 fatalities_...He stopped at the car wreck story. Something had caught his eye.

The wreck had occurred last night, just in time for the morning paper, and was now being used as a caution to unsafe drivers. He skimmed the article for details, and read the names.

_It could have waited until morning..._

Shaking his head, he reached for the phone and dialed Calpurnia Rivers' number.

**CAR WRECK IN INTERSECTION CLAIMS THREE LIVES**

At 3 o'clock this morning, a devastating collision occurred in an intersection in down town San Francisco. An 18 wheeler, heading east, ran a red light, and collided with a jeep that was crossing the intersection. This collision claimed the lives of three men. Jack Waggoner, 42, the driver of the 18 wheeler, was killed in the impact. Mark Sauk, 30, the driver of the jeep, died in the ambulance, on his way to the hospital. William Bonney, 25, passenger in the jeep, died in surgery, shortly after reaching the hospital. Car crashes in such intersections, especially those involving freighter trucks, are becoming more and more common. The city council is discussing restricting freighter trucks to a more risk free route.

**Report of 007 cases 134 and 135, reported at Bryant Hospital**

Two cases were reported from Bryant hospital on 9/7/11 at 4:05 AM. Dr. Nathaniel Greene reported the first case at 4:05, after an attempted surgery during which he had been unable to complete any incisions due to the rapid healing rate of 134. Both 134 and 135 had been involved in a car wreck in a downtown San Francisco intersection, which should have killed both of them.

134 is male, appears to be 22 or 25, 5' 9'' , caucasian, blue eyes, blonde hair. Specter color is as of yet unknown. Identification (Driver's Liscence and Insurance): William Henry Bonney, born (allegedly) 11/23/89, California Driver's Liscence. Alleged place of residence: Apartment 17, 1080 Felter Rd. San Jose. Subject 134 has a bullet wound scar over his 5th rib on the left side. Injuries sustained in the accident have left no scars. Passenger in a jeep hit by a freight truck. Subject was taken to surgery, where the surgeon recognized supernatural tendencies and reported the case. Within 6 hours of being brought to the hospital, all visible injuries had healed.

135 is male, appears between 30 and 40, 6'3'', Native American, black hair, brown eyes. Specter color unknown. Identification (Driver's Liscence and Insurance): Mark Sauk, born (allegedly) 10/3/80, California Driver's Liscence. Alleged place of residence: Apartment 6, 1080 Felter Rd. San Jose. Subject 135 has multiple scars, gathered younger in life from appearance of surrounding tissue. 135 was the driver in the jeep in the same collision as 134. 135 flatlined repeatedly during surgery, before his heart stopped all together. Further information pending.

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><p><strong>So that's the end of the chapter guys. Thanks for reading! Progress will be pretty slow from now on, like I said before, but a bit more because, y' see, I had the entire plot typed out in a document on my computer, and then my computer got shut down to update, and apparently I hadn't saved it...yeah, so I'll do my best. Hopefully within a month, I will have another 2 or so chapters.<strong>


	4. Chapter 3

**HEY GUYS, GUYS ,GUESS WHAT? I found the document on my computer which somehow didn't delete it afterall! so here it is, and it's not very good but here you go! I will try to make it get better. Next chapter should get pretty nail biting...**

**I don't own SOTINF. Michael Scott does. **

**Please read and review!**

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><p>Chapter 3<p>

Calpurnia Rivers was staring at the newspaper when her phone buzzed on the kitchen table beside her. She picked it up, expecting to see an unknown number that probably belonged to a hospital. Instead, the number belonged to Quetzalcoatl. She flipped open the phone and began to speak.

"You've seen it?"

"Yes" the Elder responded, "But I haven't heard about it, which doesn't gel."

"I haven't been contacted either, and it's been close to 9 hours since they allegedly wrecked. I'm listed as an emergency contact, and so are you, and yet neither of us have been called. They should've been knocking on my door a 3:30, but they weren't."

"Which makes me wonder, are they actually dead, and nobody knows how to explain it, or are they alive, and no one can explain it? Either one is bad."

Calpurnia listenened for a minute before he spoke again.

"Make inquiries at the hospital and morgues, then contact me. I will make what inquiries I can. Something is definately not right about this."

"Yes sir. I agree completely. Something is wrong."

_Something is wrong. And everything hurts. What...happened? _Billy the Kid was drifting back to the surface of consciousness. And it hurt. A lot. Random blurred images went flying around his head when he tried to recall the events that had led to this. Headlights. He remembered that. Then everything had started to hurt, and after that random images began to surface, a ceiling seen over the top of an oxygen mask, lots of flashing blue and red lights, Black Hawk's face covered in blood. _Oh no._

It had to have been one of two things: a paint ball game gone wrong (they had before, to much ado), or he seemed to remember something about riding in the jeep. The clock had said 3:17. _And then it was the end of the world._ They had been hit.

So then where was he now? And what was digging into his wrist? Time to find out just what he was dealing with here. He forced himslef to crack open his eyelids, which (believe it or not) actually hurt some. The bright ceiling light above him made him shut them almost immediately.

a voice came from a few feet away. "Mr. William Bonney? are you awake?" The guy sounded professional, like a...what sprang to mind was actually police officer, or an inspector, which was not good. The thing digging into his wrist started to seem familiar too...

He opened his eyes all the way this time. The man who had spoken was standing a few feet away. He looked official, but was wearing a suit with nothing to identify him.

The thing digging into his wrist was as he had expected, a set of cuffs. He was handcuffed to the hospital bed that he was lying on. Great. Perfect. Just damned perfect.

The man started speaking again. "William Bonney?" he continued without waiting for an answer. "You are under arrest on charge of manslaughter. I am your lawyer, and it would be good if you could tell me anything that will help you plead your case. What do you remember?"

The man was starting to seem off. Billy remembered a few things very clearly, and was instantly suspicious.

"I remember being in the car. Who died? was it the guy in the jeep with me?"

"Yes, and the driver of the truck that you collided with. Can you tell me your age?"

Billy reeled internally. Hawk was dead? Then more suspicion jumped up. Why was he asking that?

"What's your name?" he asked the 'lawyer'.

"My name is James Miller. If you would answer the question please."

"Mr Miller, funny thing about my being arrested for manslaughter: I wasn't driving. My friend was, and we were hit by the truck, but you already knew that. Who are you and what do you want?"

The guy dropped the act and pulled out a badge. "I am James Miller, with the CIA, branch SIA, and you will come without resist..."

his sentence ended there. Billy had been working his way out of the hand cuff while the man spoke. As soon as he had heard the words "CIA" he'd decided it was definately time to leave. So he did. Snatching loose from the cuff, he jumped out of the bed, and ran for it. He probably wouldn't make it out, but he might.

Unfortunately there was a guy waiting outside the room , who grabbed him by the shoulders and flung him against the wall. The man's hand dove towards his belt. Oh crap, he had a gun. They were definately CIA.

Billy kicked the guy's hand before he could remove the gun completely from his belt, and unluckily the agent had already flicked off the safety, allowing him to shoot himself in the foot. The agent howled, and Billy drove a knee into his stomach, and elbowed him in the head, before another agent grabbed him from behind, and drove a needle into his arm. Billy didn't expect the drugs to have any affect (no anethestics did, other than chloroform) but almost immediately he found himself sinking into unconsciousness.

This couldn't be happening!

As darkness reclaimed him, he realized a terrible, deadly, Earth destroying truth.

These guys knew.

They knew.

It was now officially the end of the world.

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><p>Dr. Greene saw the men drag the unconscious young man out the back entrance and into an unmarked white van. Agent Miller followed them. Greene hurried over to him.<p>

"What will be done about this?" he asked the agent.

"Dr. Greene, we will do all that is necessary." the agent replied before climbing into the van after his agents.

Later that night, as Greene walked home, a car pulled up alongside him, and somebody in the car shot him in the head. His body was never found, nor was the incident ever reported.

They had done what was necessary.


	5. Chapter 4

**Hey guys, short chapter this time. Sorry for the long wait, I've been really busy. And I know I always say that but this time i mean it. Unfortunately. I was going to write more but I decided to leave you all hanging *MUWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA* **

**Michael Scott owns this not me. **

***I actually just didn't have any more time to write, so i decided to master Aether instead of putting more words. when I have done so, I will post a lot. **

**Please read and review! I appreciate your comments :)**

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><p>Chapter 4:<p>

The thoughts that swirl into your head after being drugged and kidnapped are usually pretty scattered at first. Sometimes they aren't though.

This seemed like one of those times.

_What. The. Hell._

_They knew._

What was he going to do about it?

While he was thinking on this, a voice came from about 5 or 6 feet away. It echoed slightly. The room probably had a high ceiling, and concrete walls to echo like that.

"Mr. Bonney."

It was Millers. _Shut up, Millers, you are not helping._

Millers didn't shut up. Unfortunately. He just repeated himself louder. Apparently he didn't know a whole lot about immortals. If he'd whispered from fifty feet away, Billy would have still heard him loud and clear.

Time to find out what exactly they _did _know.

Billy opened his eyes slowly.

Millers was sitting across a table from him. The Kid ignored him completely, instead surveying the room and weighing his options.

His hands were cuffed to the top of a steel table, which was welded to the floor. His feet were cuffed to the floor as well. Obviously they were concerned with people leaving. The walls were either one way windows, or mirrors meant to fool people into thinking they were. The only section that wasn't likely a bullet proofed one way window was a steel reinforced door set in concrete with a number code electric lock on it. No exit that way at the moment.

It was seeming more and more that of options, he had only two. Answer the questions that Miller would probably ask him, which would reveal he was an immortal, and then most likely be experimented upon or imprisoned for life, or possibly even tortured to death. Not to mention the implications to the general immortal populus, who would definately kill him if he wasn't already dead. Or the second option:

Play dumb and hope they slip up.

Obvious choice.

Millers started to speak again. "Mr Bonney, I think it's time we continued that discussion we had started in the hospital before you left."

Billy stared at him blankly.

Millers continued. "I am going to ask you a series of questions and you will answer them truthfully. If you lie, I will know, and I will make you tell the truth. It will probably hurt."

Billy pulled the 'innocent-law-abiding-citizen' act, and stared at him wide eyed "But that's illegal!"

"The SIA does not exist. What does not exist, does not have laws."

The situation was worsening. He needed a new plan.

"First question: what name were you born with?"

They didn't know who he was. That was good. "William Henry Bonney, after my dad." A slight lie...

"How long have you known the man who was in the accident with you?"

"About 10 years. I don't know." Only dropped a place-holding zero...

"How long have you been healing every injury you sustain?"

Oh no. Play dumb. "What do you mean? Don't everybody's cuts and scrapes heal? I don't understand the..."

Millers pulled a stiletto knife, flipped the blade open, and before Billy could react, stabbed it through his hand, which had been lying on the table. Billy cried out in agony as the agent pulled it out again. Millers watched as the blood poured from the wound, and then slowly began to stop. As the cut gradually closed up and shrank to a small white line, Billy knew it was over.

Millers looked at him. There was a coldness in his eyes that showed he knew all, and that what he planned to do with what he knew did not bode well for him, or any other immortal.

"Now do you understand the question?"

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><p><strong>So what do these people want with immortals? What are they going to do now? IS BLACK HAWK DEAD?<strong>

**to be continued...**

**Thankyou for reading! now there's a button somewhere around here that I think you would like to click...:)**

**I will try to update sooner next time. Using more words.**


	6. Chapter 5

**Long chapter today, I followed through and wrote more words as promised. Not much of the main characters in this chapter, just to keep ypu guys hanging, but the plot thickens...**

**I don't own Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel. seriously, if I did, would I be writing _fan fic_ for my own book series? That would sorta defeat the purpose. Michael Scott owns it, and is writing a short story that I am very excited for.:)**

**Please read and review.**

**Thanks :)**

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><p>Chapter 5<p>

A girl with pale blue eyes and white blond hair was sitting in a car, staring hard at a building. Passerby tended to hustle past the car, and a few even considered calling the police to report suspicious activity, but thought the better of it. The girl sitting in the car couldn't have been more than 17. She was probably just waiting for a friend.

The girl's name was Katherine Barlow, and she was currently trying to see inside the building.

This actually wasn't a particularly difficult feat for her. She had been born with the sight, and in her 62 years on this earth it had strengthened until at almost a whim, she could see what was going on anywhere she had ever been. Places she hadn't been, however, those were the trick.

The apartment complex she was staring at currently was certainly one of those tricky ones.

The individual who had hired her hadn't been able to get her into the building at all, and had he been able, she wouldn't have gone. The nest of creatures she was gathering information on weren't the kind of friendly bunch whose door she would ever have braved knocking on.

People who had gone knocking on their door was part of why she was here. A contact in the police department hadn't been very pleased about the mess after a census taker had come a'calling, and asked her to scope things out for him.

While she stared at the building and tried to determine what it was that was nesting in it, her phone began to buzz on the leather seat next to her. She picked it up. It was a text from Calpurnia Rivers.

"r u busy? If nt plse call."

She glanced at the building. No. She definitely was not busy. She flipped through her contacts and dialed Cal's cell. After a few rings, Cal picked up.

"Kate? Where are you?"

"I'm looking into a site for a friend. Have been for a few days now. Why?"

"A situation has come up that I feel needs your attention."

Kate frowned. A situation. How odd. "What kind?"

"Listen, can we discuss it over coffee later?"

Even stranger. 'Discussing it over coffee' was code for 'I don't feel comfortable talking on an unsecure connection.'

"Yeah, sure. I'll find you after work. See you later then. "

"Bye Kate." Cal hung up.

Kate shut her phone. That had been really odd. What kind of situation? And why would Cal be uncomfortable about talking over the phone? Nobody was monitoring them. But Cal seemed to think someone could be…

Kate shrugged. She stared at the building for a few more minutes, before reaching into the back of the car and rummaging around for a minute. Soon she had what she needed, and climbed out of the car, careful to check that the short sword under her coat could be reached in a hurry. She approached the door quietly, listening for sounds inside the building. Hearing none, she set to work with the tape and sign she had taken from the car.

She stepped back to admire her handiwork: **DANGER-** **BUILDING CONDEMNED- DANGER- NO ENTRY.**

Well, that would take care of solicitors at least.

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><p>Kate found Cal waiting when she got back to the apartment complex known to San Francisco immortals as 'The Dorms'. Cal was sitting at the incredibly scratched and beat up kitchen table in the main living area on the ground floor, a newspaper in front of her. Kate recognized it as the one from the morning before.<p>

She sat down and Calpurnia pushed the paper at her. "Page 5."

Kate flipped to the page in question and read the article that immediately caught her attention. Her eyes widened as she read over the names and death report. She stared at Cal horrified. "Are they…?" Billy and Black Hawk were two of her closest friends. She had known them since she was 17, when her brother's car had…just like this. Black Hawk had been the one who pulled her out of the wreck and got her to Quetzalcoatl to be healed with immortality. He couldn't be dead. Neither of them could be. She, she hadn't…

Cal looked at her. "Katie sweet heart, did you feel them go?"

…she hadn't felt them go. She hadn't seen their deaths. When her brother had…had been in the wreck with her, she'd seen it coming 5 seconds before it actually happened. She would have known. But she hadn't.

Which could only mean one thing.

They weren't dead.

Kate shook her head. "No. no. I never saw anything. I would have seen something." She looked back at the newspaper in her hands. "But if they aren't dead, then where are they?"

Cal shook her head. "That's exactly what I need you to help me find out."

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><p>Charles Jameson had been working in the hospital morgue for nearly a decade. In that time, he had seen hundreds of corpses from various causes of death. It didn't phase him much anymore. Dealing with showing bodies to family members for identification, however, was a task that he dreaded continuously.<p>

Today a young woman, who couldn't have been any older than 20 came in looking to identify a body as her brother's. She had been informed by the police that a man thought to be her brother had been killed in an accident, and asked to give a positive identification. At least that was what she had said.

Jameson had expressed his sympathies and showed her the body that was allegedly "William H. Bonney".

Kate looked at the face she was shown. The man in the body bag was at least 30, and had dark brown hair. It was absolutely not Billy. Nor did the dead man's face and neck show any signs of him having been in a car wreck. The only sign of an injury was what appeared to be a bullet hole in the side of his head, covered mostly by his hair. Kate squinted and could see ethereal traces of the gun that had been pressed there.

The young woman nodded slowly. "That's him. That's William. My brother."

Jameson put a hand on her arm. " I am very sorry for your loss, Miss Bonney."

The young woman nodded her thanks quietly and filled out her contact information for the morgue, before leaving without looking back. Jameson didn't know it at the time, but all of the information she put down was false.

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><p>"It wasn't him", Kate said as she climbed back into the car. "It was some other guy, who had been shot in the head no earlier than yesterday night at 10 or 11. There was still a trace of the gun."<p>

Cal frowned. "Neither of them were in the morgue, and there was a different person in their places. That's not good."

There had always been a slight chance that they were both in the morgue. Immortals had an occasional tendency to stop showing life signs after severe physical trauma, and then start breathing a few hours later when their auras had replenished. This was obviously not the case.

Kate stared straight through the windshield while she spoke. "Cal we have to put a call into the network. This looks like a kidnapping. They aren't dead. They aren't there. Somebody's got them."

Cal nodded and pulled out her phone to contact Quetzalcoatl.

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><p>Less than an hour later, on the other side of the globe, Niccolo Machiavelli's phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and checked the sender. It was a forward from his master. The original sender was Calpurnia Tate, and the list of forwarders was already over 60 long, and included multiple elders. It had first been sent only half an hour ago.<p>

The file was a video. He pressed the button and it began to play. From the screen a woman whom he knew to be an immortal but had never met was speaking.

"There is a call in the Western United States for a possible immortal kidnapping. The two victims were admitted to a hospital after a car accident and disappeared soon after. It was published that they died in the accident but this is false. Their deaths were not marked, and upon investigation false information about the victims was given by the hospital." Two pictures came up on the screen: both immortals that Machiavelli had met.

"The victim's names are Black Hawk (Ma-ka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak), appearing around 35 or 40, black hair, brown eyes, tan skin, 6' 3", aura dark green, scented of sassafrass, and William H. Bonney (Henry McCarty) appearing between 20 and 25, blond hair, dark blue eyes, light skin,5'9", aura color dark red, aura scent cayenne pepper.

Any information or possible knowledge of the whereabouts of either should be immediately reported." The woman paused, and seemed to be considering her next words. "It is suspected that the abductors were not immortal, or elder, but humani. If so, the situation is even more urgent. If they are not found, it could risk the exposure of our world. "

The video ended with a slight click, leaving Machiavelli staring at a blank screen.

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><p><strong>So the plot thickens, and word is out. This is turning into a pretty big deal. But what is happening to the pair of immortals that everybody is looking for?<strong>

**You will know in less than two weeks if I am correct. :)**


	7. Chapter 6

**Hey guys new chapter. I hope you like it. I apologize for the typos that I know are hiding everywhere.**

**Please read and review, and remember that I don't own this, because Michael Scott does.**

**Thanks for reading!**

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><p>Chapter 6<p>

6 hours is a long time. It's an even longer time if something uncomfortable is being done to you, for example being tortured for information. When the psychopath interrogating you heats a knife with a lighter flame and threaten to put it on your face if you don't tell him what he wants to know the seconds just crawl by.

By the 5th hour, Billy's face had several intensely painful burns on it that weren't healing much, and he had told so many lies that he was starting to forget the first ones he'd told. He couldn't keep his focus through the pain, and the web of lies he'd spun was beginning to unravel just a bit. He had achieved one thing though.

Millers believed that Billy knew very little. Millers understood Billy to be 26, to have been healing spontaneously for 4 years, after spending a week in remote Alaska, and that he had absolutely no idea why or how he had "woken his specter" as Millers kept saying.

Through all the pain and struggle to keep hold of the lies he'd told, one thing kept popping back up.

These nutjobs had other immortals. They knew about auras, and they knew something about immortality.

Therefore his only course of action was set: get the hell out of here the first chance he got, and find somebody who could help him blow this bunch of mad scientists to smithereens.

Millers was heating the blade of that stupid stiletto knife again. He turned it in the flame to make sure that it was scorching hot in every spot. He turned back to Billy.

"Final question. I want you to tell me exactly how many others that are like you you know. I want their names and adresses. Now."

Billy forced himself not to show any response. D_on't betray anything, don't let him see. Best poker face. He can never find out._

Billy looked him straight in the eye. "There are others? Others like my friend and me?" he said incredulously.

"Not just a few. There are hundreds of them hiding unidentified in our society. You never met any others?" Millers brought the knife closer to Billy's face, daring him to lie.

Billy could feel the heat spilling off of it as he replied. "I thought we were alone."

Millers raised an eyebrow a hair. "You certain of that?" and he pressed the knife blade against Billy's cheek again.

The pain cut through him like a white hot poker through snow. He gasped at the fire that seemed to have rooted in his skin and tried to struggle away but there was no way to get lose. He forced his aura to stay suppressed, and not burn Millers himself to charcoal.

"Did you ever meet another person with a specter?" Millers was repeating. "Tell the truth."

"No! I never knew anybody else! It was just my friend! Stop! I'm not lying!"

Millers kept the blade against his skin for several more seconds, until a buzzing from the pager that he had left on the table distracted him. He removed the knife, causing Billy to gasp quietly in relief.

Millers read the page. His face betrayed nothing as he picked up his jacket and knife, and made to leave the room. He glanced back at the person he had spent the last hours torturing. "Until later." Millers waved at him with the knife blade as the pneumatic seal on the door hissed open, then disappeared into the hallway beyond.

The Kid waited until the door had hissed shut again before muttering under his breath "Not on your life."

It was officially time to leave.

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><p>Billy had now been waiting for at least half an hour. There had been no sign of anybody coming after Millers left. He had come to the conclusion that they were just going to leave him here until Millers came back to torture him some more. He wasn't going to get a better opportunity.<p>

Carefully glancing around at the glass walls that he suspected might be hiding cameras, he let his aura rise, bringing his awakened senses to life. He began trying to sense people through the oneway windows. Feeling no auras, he began listening for the hum of cameras, and again got nothing. Apparently their security was not adequately aquipped to deal with an immortal. He wondered again about what others there had been, and where they were now. Unless Millers was lying through his teeth, which he hadn't appeared to be, there had been several other immortals. They were probably here somewhere...but Millers was pretty insane. Billy forced away thoughts of what could've happened to the poor schmucks who had been kidnapped before him, and focussed on getting out.

He checked his aura. It was pretty well charged. That was slightly odd. If he was correct it had only been 12 hours or so since the wreck. He wondered briefly how long he had been out. Never mind that, he decided. He could deal with everything later. Checking for auras one last time, he brought his aura alight against the cuffs holding his hands to the table. They began to glow dark red, and soon there was a dull click as the lock gave enough for him to pull one hand out. Seconds later he had the other hand free and set to work of the cuffs on his ankles. Less than 3 minutes later he was free and rushing towards the pnematic door.

He studied the lock for a minute. It was a code lock that required finger prints even to enter a code. No matter. He didn't need a code or fingerprints. Placing on hand on the rubber seal, and the other on the sensor, he charged both with his aura. He could feel the sensor overloading under his hand, and sure enough, a dull click as a lock gave up its hold met his ears. Quickly he focussed on his other hand, melting a hole through the seal, an letting the pressure diffuse. Once the air equalized, he put his shoulder to the door and shoved it gently open.

Hoping nobody had heard him he set of down the corridor.

A few minutes later and he was getting very unnerved. The place looked like a research facility, with it's flourescent lighting, and white floors and walls. He was getting a very bad vibe from everything. Bad things had been done here.

He kept walking, hurrying a little bit more now, and keeping an eye out for cameras. He ducked around a corner, and stopped to take scope of the new hall. It was empty but with a few doors halfway down. Clear.

He started hurrying down the hall. He was halfway down it when one of the doors opened suddenly. A man who looked like a guard came out, and before Billy could do anything, spotted him and gave a shout of alarm.

_Shit. _Billy ran for it, shoving past the guard as he fumbled for a gun. He was dully aware of somebody screaming an alarm into a walkie talkie. _Shit Shit Shit. _He had maybe 5 minutes to get out of here before he was trapped with no escape.

Billy skidded around a corner without checking for people, and ran into a large open room with balconies around the walls. It looked like a lobby perhaps or an atrium. Unfortunately as soon as he entered the room so did about 7 guards from another door. All of them had guns up and ready to fire. Which the man in front did not hesitate for a second in doing.

The guy's aim was good. If Billy hadn't deflected it with his aura it would have hit him high on the chest, and probably have taken him out of the fight then and there. As it was, it just ricocheted of the sparking crimson barrier that had snapped into life between the gun and the bullet's target.

But of course not to be deterred every single guard in the room decided to follow the first guy's example and shoot at him. His aura blocked each bullet, but by the 15th shot, he could feel the shield beginning to weaken. He had to end this before his aura burned out leaving him defenseless.

Suddenly he dropped the shield, letting the energy snap out into the room, shocking everybody slightly, and wreaking havoc with the firing mechanisms on the guns that they were aiming at him.

In one final attempt, Billy clapped his hands together, drawing his aura into his hands. It forced it's way out through his skin, forming a glowing red sphere between his palms. When it was around the size of a tennis ball, and air in the room began to hum with the energy spilling off of it, he shut his eyes and dropped the sphere. There was a flash of blinding light and a brief roar like from a tornado, before everything was still.

Billy opened his eyes. The room was pretty much obliterated. Not a person had been left conscious, let alone standing. Billy turned and began to walk towards the set of double doors that looked like an exit.

Suddenly something hit his shoulder, and began to sting as if a wasp had gotten him. He stumbled, and reached over his shoulder to grab the thing that had hit him. He felt something feathery and brought his hand around, opening his palm. In it lay a small hypodermic dart.

He turned as a voice spoke from behind him.

"Well done Mr. Bonney. I can certainly say I never expected you to make it this far. That little display of power back there." Miller's voice darkened "was hardly that of an untrained amature."

Billy crumpled to his knees as the anasthetics began to take hold. _Not again..._

The exhausted immortal glared at the agent.

Millers returned the glare. "The games are over now."

Billy spat at him. "Rot in hell." he gasped out.

Millers did not respond, but drew his handgun and shot Billy in the chest a second time, and everything faded to black yet again.

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><p><strong>That's all for now folks. Expect an update in at least two weeks because I have a music recital that I desperately need to prepare for. But After that I swear I will update. <strong>


	8. Chapter 7

**So hey guys, here's the next chapter. **

**I. DON'T. OWN. THIS. Michael Scott does. and don't you forget it either...XD**

**Please read and review. I appreciate it when you do. It *sniffle* makes life worthwhile for me! :P **

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><p>Chapter 7<p>

A dull ache throbbed through his shoulder and chest, and his head was pounding like it was going to split in two. Where was he? Billy opened his eyes. Everything was dark, and when he breathed he could hear the sound being contained by a ceiling that was only six inches from his face. Oh no. At once his breathing started to become constricted, because the walls were closing in, closing in on him, and suddenly he was back at Sumner, nailed into a coffin, bleeding out from a gunshot wound that wouldn't close because of the bullet in it. He was slowly burning to death from the heat, and slamming his hands against the lid of the coffin, and he wanted to scream, from the pain and from the terror that he was going to be buried alive, but if he made a sound, they'd come and shoot him again, and this time they'd do the job properly, and the walls were closing in, the walls were...were...

He forced himself to start breathing again. The walls gradually stopped drawing in to suffocate him, and the panic faded slightly. This wasn't Fort Sumner. He wasn't shut in a coffin. The walls were _certainly_ not closing in. He shook his head gently, an action which hurt like nails being driven into his skull, in an attempt to get rid of the roaring in his ears. It didn't stop. He raised his head slightly. The dull roaring wasn't in his ears, it was coming from below and to one side of the..._car trunk_ he realized. It was the sound of an engine. He was shut in the trunk of a car.

He began to recall the events that had lead to this, and the fight in the compound. _Damn Millers._ He'd been at the door, home free, and Millers had just waltzed in and shot him in the back with tranquilzer darts. Wrong on so many levels. Judging by the fact that he was awake, one of those wrong levels was the dosage.

Evidently after that little episode Millers had realized that the site was not aquipped to deal with immortals, and now Billy was either being moved to a more secure site, or driven out into the desert to be hit in the head with a shovel. Either way, he needed to leave before they arrived.

He began to go over in his mind everything he knew about escaping from car trunks. His hands were cuffed, but that wasn't much of a problem as they weren't cuffed to anything.

He needed to find the trunk release. Finding the tailight wires wouldn't help much in this case. His eyes had begun to adjust slightly, and he could now see the ceiling and walls, and they were so close, and was it just his imagination that they were...No! they weren't getting any closer! Shoving aside claustrophobic thoughts, he began to explore the inside of the trunk with his hands.

There was nothing else in the trunk, which disappointed him slightly. He'd suspected there might have been a shovel, but either they weren't planning on burying him, or they actually had enough sense not to leave a very useful tool for escape in the trunk.

Billy began to feel around for the trunk release, and finally found an area where he thought it might be, underneath a panel and some carpeting. A minute later, his fingers found the release lever.

Now to decide when was the opportune moment to leave. Right now it felt like the car was moving at close to interstate speed. Getting out now wouldn't make the situation any better.

He was just going to have to hope that the car slowed down or stopped before they reached their destination.

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><p>Finally, the car hit a bump, and began to slow down. Billy was jolted into immediate attention. After a minutes, the car accelerated rather quickly and continued at a slower speed. A stop light. And stoplights are rarely alone.<p>

He would need to act quickly.

Less than a minute later, the car began to slow again. He waited, with his hand on the trunk release. The ideal moment to get out, would be exactly when the light was about to change, so that by the time they noticed, they would alreadt be accelerating across an intersection.

the last light had lasted around 67 seconds. The lights were close enough together that they were likely to be similar. Billy decided, that after 65 seconds, he would pop the trunk, and then run for it. He would have to move fast though, and just pray that the car didn't have any sort of alarm that accompanied the 'door ajar' icon.

_30 seconds...25...20...15...10...5, 4, 3, 2, 1, GO! _Pulling down hard on the trunk release, he slammed his shoulder against the hatch door, just as he felt the car begin to accelerate. Light and cool air flooded the cramped space, and he flung himself forward towards the light, the air, and away from the tiny space that had trapped him. Rolling forward out of the trunk, he hit the ground, and took off running at top speed.

It's difficult to run for your life with your hands cuffed, but he managed it pretty well, dodging through the cars that had all just been ready to pull out into the intersection, drawing honks from startled drivers. He was 20 feet from the car when all hell broke loose.

The Agent in the car had noticed the door ajar light had flicked on just as the driver stomped the gas to make it through the light. An instant later, the hatch had flown open, and the captive under their charge was running down the street. Needless to say, this was a problem.

The Agent cried out to the driver, who at once slammed the brakes. The Agent jumped out of the car, reaching for his gun. He hesitated for an instant before drawing it.

Millers had told him that the captive was a threat to public safety. That cleared him to shoot.

Billy heard a gunshot and dove through a gap between two cars. He glanced backwards. One of the guys from the car was advancing catiously, holding a gun in his hands. That did not bode well. He picked the best option.

He ran for it.

The Agent approached the gap that the captive had ducked through. Cocking the gun, he followed through the gap. The guy was gone. running back out again, he spotted the guy running down the center line. He took aim and fired.

Billy dodged between cars and headed for the side of the road, running down the first alley he found.

The Agent lowered the gun. He could hear sirens approaching. The drivers of other cars must have called the police. The captive had escaped. Millers was gonna kill him.

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><p>Billy was sitting in a back alley, trying to decide what to do next. He was in a city 2 hours out of Los Angeles. San Francisco was over 6 hours away. He had no ID, no weapons, all he had pretty much were the clothes he'd been wearing during the wreck, which didn't help really because they had blood on them, and his boots. The only upside to his situation was that he had managed to find a paperclip and get the handcuffs off. The SIA were certain to know where he lived. He couldn't get in touch with Calpurnia. He didn't have Quetzalcoatl's number. Even if he could contact them, he doubted that they would be able to help.<p>

He needed somebody who was on the level of the CIA. Someone who would know how they operated.

After searching for a while, he'd finally found a phone booth. Apparently the stupid things were going extinct in an age of cell phones. He had enough change that had been left in one of his pockets to make a 20 minute call.

He stood in the phone booth holding the receiver, trying to decide on a number to dial. Finally he chose one and dialed.

_He'd better pick up the phone..._

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><p><strong>Who is he calling? What is Millers going to do when he finds out what's happened? Where is Black Hawk?<strong>

**All this and more, in the next chapter...**

**Thanks for reading guys! please review! Another chapter is coming very soon, and I promise it will have Black Hawk in it. I feel bad for leaving him out this long...:)**


	9. Chapter 8

**Okay here is chapter 8 and it's really short, but it makes it's point. **

**I hope you guys like it! **

**Please read and review. and oh yeah, I don't own this. When I take over the world, acquiring ownership of this will be my first order of buisiness. lol just kidding...I'll do that second. :P Michael Scott owns it people. I don't...but I will one day *insert evil laugh MUWHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA-ack COUGH COUGH* sorry. **

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><p><em>The previous day, SIA Headquarters, Los Angeles, California<em>

Black Hawk was becoming concerned. He had woken up earlier in a concrete cell. That had freaked him out a little bit. He remembered a car wreck and had some very blurry memories of an emergency room, but then there was a large blank. Everything hurt, and his entire body was sore. It felt as if he might have flatlined. That would certaily explain why it felt like someone had attempted to burn a sizable chunk of skin off of his chest.

It had taken him a while to think back through the last 10 years to try and figure what he might possibly be there for, but once he had and couldn't remember anything that would merit his being shut in a padlocked, concrete cell, he decided to bang on the door. This didn't draw any attention. Even after half an hour of nearly continuous door banging.

He decided to change strategies, and began to search the room for cameras. After a few minutes of searching he found one in a corner of the ceiling and proceeded to demand attention by the 6th Amendment and Miranda rights, but apparently the person watching the screen, if in fact some one was watching, was not particularly familiar with legal practices. Or perhaps they'd simply ignored his appeal of "According to my 6th amendment rights, as an American citizen I have a right to Notice of accusations and the right to an attorney, both of which I have been denied, nor was I read the Miranda rights, therefore any accusations you may have against me may not be supported in a court of law due to the exclusion of evidence entailed with failure to do so!"

He sincerely hoped that the camera was recording, because if he had that evidence he was gonna tear them apart legally when he got out. Unless of course they weren't part of the law.

A few hours later he heard an alarm begin to shriek and the sound of several gunshots in another part of the building, and at once dropped to the floor, pressing his ear to it and allowing other senses to fade as he concertrated on hearing.

There were about 15 gunshots, followed by a brief silence, and then an explosion. Very distantly, he sensed auric energy. Somewhere in the building, a fight was going on, involving armed men and an individual with a powerful awakened aura. It was too distant to determine anything else.

Black Hawk became even more anxious. There was a fellow immortal being fired upon somewhere nearby. And he was trapped in a cell. He wondered for the first time if the people who had put him there were not human themselves. He began to try and determine a means of escape, but the cell was built out of solid concrete, and the door was solid, reinforced steel. He tried to bring his aura up, but it was so depleted that it faded again almost instantly. Escape was going to be a bit more difficult than previously thought. The only way out was through the door. The only way to get the door open was from the outside. He was just going to have to wait it out.

It was five hours before somebody finally showed up.

It was a man in a suit, who looked official, and definately had something to do with government or law enforcement. He was the sort of person who if you didn't pay particular attention to them, an hour later you wouldn't remember their face enough to pick them out of a lineup.

The man entered the room and pulled out a badge. Oh lord, now they tried to follow procedure.

"Mr. Sauk, My name is agent Millers, CIA, division SIA, and I would like to inform you that the Miranda rights may be waved in cases that threaten the safety of the public, and I would also like to point out that the Bill of Rights only applies to those who are recognized as fully human."

Black Hawk barely had time to process this before Agent Millers pulled out a pistol and fired two hypodermic darts into his shoulder. He staggered back against the wall and slumped, losing consciousness rapidly.

_He knew what I was, how could he know that? Who was fighting downstairs? What happened to them? How did he know? How did he know? How did...he..._

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><p><strong>Okay folks, that's all for now! thanks for reading! Please review!<strong>

**I hope to have another chapter within two weeks as always. :)**


	10. Chapter 9

**So hey guys! I'm back! I've been sort of back for a while, but haven't really picked back up on anything yet. For which I feel terrible and regret deeply, I assure you. In the long span of time since I have updated, as am sure you are aware, the Enchantress was released, and it was UNBELIEVABLY AWESOME!HJSDHJVHJD, and made me incredibly happy, because dang it if nearly every loose thread wasn't tacked down. And the few that aren't, due to the promise of more e-book short stories, I feel will be taken care of at a later date. **

**If you read the Enchantress, then you probably know that my favorite two characters featured a lot in the book (because they are awesome of course) and both had some pretty significant things happen to them in the Alcatraz battle. Pretty significant things. And one of those things (well, both of them) slightly killed my soul, and when I said so on the forum MICHAEL SCOTT (HDH DWIDVDHDSHDCWW IE EGCQYGF) replied and hinted at something which made my week 400% better, but because I don't want to risk spoilers I will discuss the things that happened to the characters and Mr. Scott's reply at the bottom of this chapter. **

**REPEAT, THERE ARE SPOILERS*SPOILERS*SPOILERS* AT THE BOTTOM OF THIS CHAPTER. So if you haven't read the Enchantress don't read the final notes. If you have, read them and join me in my hysterical fan-girling. **

**Also, on a slightly more related note, I recently saw the Avengers (well actually saw it 3 times but yeah) and decided that I must have seen Agent Coulson somewhere before then because that's who Millers is. A really sick, evil Coulson. Maybe that'll help you guys to picture this fic better.**

**As always, I don't own any of the SOTINF characters. I am not Michael Scott. Seriously, that guy wrapped up a six book series with no hanging threads, I can't even figure out how to end a fan-fic :P**

**Please Read and Review because it's nice, and ffnet has gone to a lot of trouble, it seems, to shine things up and put the review button in a more prominent spot and such. :)**

**This has been a ridiculously long author's note brought to you by Cedar. Your feature presentation will resume momentarily. Enjoy the show!**

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><p>Pay phones are terrible things. Really terrible. Especially when you only had 75 cents in the first place, and the person you are calling is taking a while to pick up.<p>

Billy the Kid forced himself to stay calm and not waste time with angry inquiries about why the heck it took so long for the phone to be answered.

_5th ring...6th ring..._If he got an answering machine he was going to go lie down on the nearest railroad tracks and wait to die. Not even kidding.

Finally, between the seventh and eighth rings, the phone was answered.

"_Hello?", _a slightly apprehensive voice said, a slight French accent coloring the word.

"Mac? Mac! This had better be you because I haven't got much time." Billy spoke quickly, he only had a minute and 20 seconds.

"_Billy? Is that you? Where are you? What happened?" _

Billy could hear the other immortal scrambling to get the call recording, probably already contacting others.

"Yes of course it's me! I'm getting to that! Pay attention, I'm about to be talking fast. Hawk and I were snatched by a secret CIA subdivision, SIA, headed by an Agent who called himself Millers. They know about immortals, don't ask how, I don't know..."

Billy rattled off everything he thought was necessary. "I don't know what happened to Hawk, I haven't seen him since the wreck. I need you to contact Quetzalcoatl and Calpurnia and tell them I'm alive. Then I need you to find out about this organization. You are on their level. Convince them that they have made a mistake. "

_"Billy, I can't do that. I could cause an international incident. Even if I were to claim you were an agent of the DGSE, there would still be questions asked, it would be a crisis. We need to regroup and decide the best course of action. Where are you? I can send somebody to get you, they can be there within an hour." _ Niccolo heard only silence on the other end of the line. "_Billy? Your location?"_

"What about Black Hawk? They've still got him. Lord only knows what they're doing to him right now. "

"_Billy, we don't know where he is, or how to find him. All we can do is regroup. Give me your location." _

"I'll regroup, I just have to go get one of the group members."

"_Billy, don't do this. You're not thinking. Don't you dare hang up this..."_

"Bye Mac. I'll be in touch."

There was a sharp click as the line cut off. Machiavelli swore, which was uncommon for him, and immediately began triangulating the call. As soon as he found the location, he sent it to every contact he had on that half of the U.S.

It didn't do any good. When the first contact got there, barely thirty minutes after the call, there was no trace of Billy the Kid. Nothing to show he had ever been there.

Only that fact that Niccolo Machiavelli now had an international crisis on his hands if he chose to act. "Chose" for lack of a better word. If he "chose" not to act, then it wouldn't cause an international crisis.

The crisis that involved governments discovering, kidnapping, possibly even attempting to exterminate immortals, would be global.

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><p><strong>*Cue dramatic chords*. I'm sorry this was so short, but I am back started again! Updates will hopefully be bi- to tri-weekly. Still hunting down plot demons, but it is a work in progress.<strong>

**Okay so here is the SPOILERY THINGS DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THE ENCHANTRESS.**

**okay here tis:**

**I was heart broken when I read the bit where Black Hawk got thrown into the water with the Nereids. I posted on the Flamels Immortal Portal forum about it, and MICHAEL SCOTT replied back. **

**"So who said Black Hawk is dead?**

**Not me!**

**Think about it for a second. He was thrown into the water ... but the Nereids are gone. I'll say no more.**

**Michael" **

**And then I died of hysterical joy and other feelings. **

**So ecstatic. And tired. Goodnight! I bid you all adieu!**


	11. Chapter 10

**Greetings Minions, that felt really cool to say :P**

**Here's another chapter as promised.**

**As usual, I don't own SOTINF because Michael Scott does and he is too cool to imitate/impersonate. And he has a very nice accent. Perhaps one day I will get an accent that cool. But probably not ownership of an amazing series like SOTINF.**

**Please Read and Review, or don't, either way. It doesn't make much of a difference, it just makes my day happy. *sob* JK do whatever you want :P**

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><p>Truth was, Billy the Kid didn't have a very good track record when it came to the CIA. Well, not as Billy the Kid (mainly because they hadn't been around at the time), and not really as William Bonney either.<p>

He was known to the CIA under an alias from much more recent times. And not even an alias of his own choosing.

Being the immortal servant of an Elder doesn't have a paycheck involved. Immortals have to fend for themselves mostly. And as difficult as it had been for him to get job before he became immortal, that had nothing on getting a job afterwards.

His main problem had always been his age. The oldest he'd ever been able to pull off was 35. At a stretch. Not many people are going to hire a 25-ish-year-old guy to do anything that would pay much. Especially a guy who might just go AWOL at any time, possibly for days on end and not have any sort of excuse. Somehow, "I'm sorry but the 10,000 year old monster who made me immortal had something he wanted me to do, and I'm sorry I missed my shift but it was that or death by dismemberment", never achieved the desired affect. Needless to say, not many of his previous bosses reccomended him...

Eventually it had become apparent that 9 to 5 jobs were not going to work out so well. But jobs outside of the law tend to keep different hours.

He'd dealt in the underworld before, and had survived, (actually looking back, he hadn't but that was beside the point). He figured "How bad could it be?"

His best skill set had always been getting in and out of places. It turned out that that kind of skillset was just what the underworld was looking for at the time. Locks were getting harder to pick. Security systems were getting more advanced. People were getting paranoid. It wasn't the '60s any more. Now people had cameras and alarms and were coming up with new things all the time.

He became fairly well known in the underworld as a "monkey" who could get in and get out of places nobody else could. He didn't kill anybody. He didn't steal, or destroy property, or whatever else the people who hired him wanted done.

He hated every second of it.

But that didn't matter. He just opened the doors. And made a name for himself doing it.

He didn't have much of a name though. He never used his real name. In the end, he went by a bad nickname that his partner on his first job had called him. The guy had a habit of calling people by a defining feature of their's. It could have been worse. Originally, the man had called him "Blondie". After Billy had threatened him with torture, however, he'd switched to "Boots", and it had stuck.

And so it was by the name "Boots the Monkey" that the CIA knew him.

Things had gone fairly well for a while. He'd stayed out of sight, taking low profile jobs that would go unnoticed.

Then one day he took a job that turned out to be a lot more high profile than he'd realized. High profile enough that the CIA was staked out waiting for him and his partner.

Everything had looked normal, quiet, deserted from the outside. But the second they waltzed into the trap that had been laid for them, things went to Hell in a handcart.

He didn't stick around to tag along.

One thing led to another, and less than an hour later he had taken a bullet, jumped from a 30' bridge into a freezing cold river, and ended up lying on a riverbank a few miles downstream, suffering from hypothermic shock.

Lying there, bleeding sluggishly, shaking so hard he could barely breathe, while the CIA hunted for him, memories of another night when he'd taken a bullet swam into his head.

It hit him then just how stupid this was. He had sworn off living like this. Had fought so hard for so long to get away from this kind of thing, and had just skipped back to it without a second thought.

He'd sworn never to go back to that. Ever again. Almost half a century had passed since then, and he never had.

That didn't mean he hadn't kept tabs on old contacts over the years.

* * *

><p>Ray Dennon was a dealer. Of course, almost nobody knew him by that name anymore. Nowadays he was know in most circles simply as "The Informant". He didn't deal in any substances (well, at least he hadn't for quite sometime). His trade was in information.<p>

And he was good. Not even the tiniest of rumors escaped him. Hunting down the truth about anything, and selling it to anyone was an artform. Over the years, he had mastered it. He knew things that could bring down governments, start wars, destroy cities, and probably get him killed. He didn't worry too much about his clients killing him off to silence him, though. He knew too much information that they needed for them to dispose of him.

He very rarely felt any sort of fear. He only feared what he did not know, or did not understand. He understood almost everything.

When he opened the door early that morning and found what he thought was a ghost standing on his door-step, he felt first confusion.

"Boots? Is that you? After all these years?" the recognition had been immediate. Which was odd. It had been almost 50 years since he'd seen the boy last. And then it hit him. _Boy?_

He hadn't changed. At all.

"If I say 'yes' will you sell me out to the first person who asks?", the ghost quipped back at him.

Dennon could feel the color draining from his face. There was no mistaking it. He was real.

"What do you want, Boots? Why are you here again after so long?"

The young man smiled. There was a slightly dangerous edge to it. "Why does anybody call on an informant? I'm looking for information that I believe you have. "

"Well, we'd better not discuss that out here. Come in, man." Dennon stepped back, allowing him entrance. There was something very strange going on here, and the sooner he got this customer in and out of his house, the better.

He led the young man to a slightly dingy interior room, away from any possible third party cameras or recorders, filled with file cabinets and computers.

"What exactly are you inquiring about? I can't guarantee that I'll have the information that you're after..."

"You probably know more about the CIA than the CIA knows about itself. I figure you're the person to come too for this."

Dennon shrugged, conceding the point. The young man continued. "I need to know everything you have on the CIA division SIA."

Dennon studied his face, making sure he was serious, then it occurred to him that given the situation, he probably was.

"The Supernatural Intelligence Agency? Seems like a bit of a joke to me." he glanced at his customer's expression. Still serious as nuclear winter. "Doesn't seem like they do much of anything. But they are still given pretty staggering funding so there must be something going on there. I don't have much on them. There's not much information to be had. Even considering how long they've been around-"

"Wait, when did these guys get started exactly?" the young man interrupted.

"Well, like I said, there's not much on them, but first reports of them are from the early 60s. They've been around a while. "

Boots frowned slightly. "What exactly have their agents been reported doing?"

Dennon raised an eyebrow. "I dont know how true it is, but surely you've heard of the Men in Black? But I don't know...that gets off into all that UFO sighting crap, all of them are crazy..."

"Men in Black?"

"Well, you know, they're supposed agents who show up after a supernatural event or an incident and interrogate the witnesses about what they've seen, and threaten them to keep quiet about it. Things like that. It doesn't seem to stop most people...but they say there's a bit of truth behind everything."

"A truer thing was never said. I need to know one thing. Where is their main base?"

Dennon almost laughed. It just kept getting weirder and weirder. "Well, it's out in Nevada. They call it Area 51."

* * *

><p><strong>Well here we go! Off to Area 51!<strong>

**I really ended up on the weird side of the internet piecing this chapter together. I finally gave up on having this be as factual as I would've liked it to be after I slogged through some of "that UFO sighting crap". Now don't get me wrong, I have seen a UFO before, but once I started getting into cattle mutilations and stuff I figured "Well, they made most of this up, why shouldn't I?" Wikipedia can become a very scary place.**

**Area 51 is real and in Nevada. Men in Black are a reported thing in the UFO/supernatural incident world. **

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I didn't but, hey, getting from point A to point B is always the worst. **

**Hopefully I will have another chapter up in a few weeks. I make no promises though because the first day of school is coming. Brace yourselves.**


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